


Turn all your sounds of woe

by Sylvil



Category: Nothing Much to Do
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:28:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sylvil/pseuds/Sylvil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trick to show business is heartbreak</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is based in the universe of the Kingkiller Chronicle, specifically the music tavern the Eolian in Imre. You don't have to have read the books to understand it, but you should understand the basics of how the Eolian works. I'll explain.  
> Monetary values used here - jot and talent. A talent is a ridiculous amount of money.  
> It’s a jot to get into the bar. If you want to play for your pipes, you pay a talent for the opportunity.  
> The silver pipes are a mark of high esteem for artists. If you have them, it is significantly easier to find musical work in the city. You also get into the Eolian for free.  
> The whole audience judges the musician after the performance and has a say in if they get their pipes or not.  
> People from all over come to listen to these musicians. Some will take a musician under their wing and pay for all their needs. These are patrons.
> 
> If you like this universe in any way, shape, or form... I highly suggest reading the books. I don't do them any justice.

"No. You’ll be fine! I’ll pay" Pedro smiled at his jittery friend, "The world should hear you sing."  
"B-but"  
"No buts. You may even score a patron!" Pedro smirked and nudged Balthazar with his elbow, "Or even better… A woman."  
"Fine. Not necessarily for the girls, though." Balthazar sighed, "And I don’t have anything to wear."  
"I’ll get you fixed up right quick." The prince of Messina put his arm around his smaller friend and pulled him out of the door.

.

Pedro payed the two jots to get in, and Balthazar promptly tried to walk back out of the door.  
"Woah, woah. You’ll be okay." Pedro grinned at the doorman and shrugged, "He’ll be playing for his pipes today."  
The man turned to point inside. “You see the bar?” It was hard to miss fifty feet of winding mahogany that curved through the far end of the room. “See where the far end turns toward the stage?” Balth nodded. “See him on the stool? If you decide to try for your pipes, he’s the one you want to talk to. Name’s Stanchion.”  
The boys thanked him and Pedro drug Balthazar to a table and handed him a silver talent, “They don’t let new people play until after sundown.”  
"That’s good. I couldn’t play right now anyway," Balthazar nervously fiddled with the heavy coin and fidgeted with his clothes. He had not allowed Pedro to buy him a new suit, so the prince had purchased him the best used one that they could find.  
Pedro didn’t notice his discomfort, “We’re in for a treat! Look at the lineup today.”

.

Six incredible performances later, and one silly song from a count, and it was time for the performers trying for their pipes. Balthazar let four people go in front of him, each dejectedly leaving the stage without the pipes to mark their success, before he gave into Pedro’s urging and walked down to Stanchion.  
Pedro watched the interaction from the table, noting the man’s chuckle and Balthazar’s bright red face as he gestured vaguely towards Pedro. Stanchion took the boy’s silver talent and ushered him up on the stage.

The crowd hushed and looked down at the boy in secondhand clothes that was sitting in front of them. He carefully tuned his trouper’s lute and began to play with no introduction.  
It was a beautiful love song, timeless and regularly played, though not often by someone with such skill. Pedro could tell that Balth was intimidated by the crowd only because the performer locked eyes with his friend through almost the entire song.  
The second song he played was one Pedro had never heard before, and he was sure the crowd hadn’t either. Balth favored him with a half-smile as he sang in praise of his friend. Pedro blushed; surely he wasn’t as great as all that.

The crowd roared at the completion of the song, and Balthazar carefully put away his lute while Stanchion wound through the crowd collecting votes on the young singer.

Balthazar showed none of the previous performers’ dejection upon being rejected and made his way back towards the table with two full tankards.  
"What did you think?" He shoved the extra drink towards Pedro and didn’t meet his eyes.  
"It was beautiful!" Pedro grinned, "They’ll be all over you after that first song."  
Balthazar looked like he’d been punched in the gut, “I-I meant the second one.”  
Pedro chuckled, “It was hilarious. You know I’m not as great as all that.” He stood and slapped his friend on the back, “I’ll go get us some food.”  
Balthazar buried his face in his hands as soon as Pedro’s back was turned. Hilarious. Awesome.  
"Didn’t go as planned?" Balthazar turned to see a pretty woman standing nearby.  
"Uh… No. Not really."  
She stuck out her hand, “I’m Ursula. Looking for a patron by any chance?”  
He clasped her hand warmly, “I certainly wouldn’t turn one down.”  
"Now I think the issue was you sang a song that no one can relate to," Ursula nodded towards Pedro who was chatting up a pretty blond at the bar, "Unfortunately it looks like you have the makings of a song that everyone will."  
Balthazar followed her gaze and instantly looked back down at his tankard. She put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.  
"Would you like to go somewhere else to talk about details?"  
Balthazar looked back at Pedro in time to see him leaning towards the blond and looked back at Ursula.  
"Yeah. That would be nice."

.

When Pedro returned to the table his friend was long gone and there were two talents and a jot sitting next to his mug.


	2. Chapter 2

Pedro knocked on his friend’s door and received no answer. He tested the lock, and it eased open so he slipped in.

“Balth?” Pedro glanced around the cramped quarters before examining a fine set of clothes he hadn’t seen before, far nicer than anything else Balth had in the room. Behind the clothes was Balthazar’s lute case. Pedro smiled and cracked the case open to look at his friend’s prized possession. It was empty.

“Balthazar!?” Pedro panicked. The lute couldn’t be missing. Balthazar wouldn’t accept a replacement for his shabby instrument. Pedro had tried, wheedling and pressuring his friend into accepting a better one from him. Balthazar refused. Something about the history of an instrument mattering. The age of the wood. The temperament of it all. It didn’t make any sense to Pedro, but it was important to Balth, so he had dropped the subject. But now the lute was gone. “BALTHAZAR!!”

“You are rather loud today.” Balthazar’s head poked in through the open window, lute held lazily in one hand. Pedro breathed a sigh of relief.

“I thought your… You are a hard man to find, you know that?”

“Are you talking about finding my lodgings or finding where I’m located once you get there?” The lithe musician swung himself back into the room.

“Both,” Pedro laughed, “I haven’t seen you in a while. You seem to be doing better for yourself these days, though.” He gestured at the fine set of clothing.

“Oh. Uh. Yeah, that.” Balthazar shuffled his feet, “I’m performing at the Eolian again soon, and my patron insisted that I look nicer than the last time.”

“Patron? You never told me you had a patron!” Pedro looked at the tiny room, “He isn’t treating you very well. Shouldn’t he put you up in a nicer place?”

“She.” Balthazar adopted a defensive stance, “She is treating me very well, thank you. I just chose to find my own accommodations.”

“She?” Pedro grinned, “Staying with her for reasons other than money, eh?” He nudged he friend with his elbow. Balthazar flinched away.

“No. I’m not.” He backed towards the window, “I need to practice more, Pedro. You should go back to the University and do whatever it is you do.”

“But Balthazar, I want to…” Balthazar was gone, leaping out of the window and racing to whatever rooftop it was that he decided to practice on now.

Pedro sighed, “I just want to see you.” He turned and walked out, closing the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Irrelevant information:  
> (everything here is simplified a bit)  
> Yllish story knots are a form of "written" language. It's complex knots that mean different words, etc.  
> Some knots are thought to have the power to influence the person seeing them, even if they don't understand.  
> Sympathy is energy manipulation. Sygaldry is sympathy but in a written form that makes the sympathetic link permanent. Artifacting is the practical application of sygaldry.

BALTHAZAR:

You probably are not supposed to be up here.  
There's no sign explicitly stating it. No, "Keep off the roof of our prestigious university," or, "Don't eavesdrop on classes you haven't paid for."  
It is probably true all the same, but you haven't seen one. Besides. It's peaceful up here. If you learn some things while relaxing next to a conveniently placed window, so be it.  
Most things you hear while lazing on the rooftop are beyond you anyway. Sympathy makes no sense. Artifacting sounds fascinating, but the finer aspects of sygaldry are taught behind an annoyingly soundproof window. Figures.  
You are here only because it amuses you. You aren't looking for Pedro. Not at all.

It was while you are listening in on a private lesson in Yllish story knots that you catch a glimpse of him. The boy is dressed up, even more so than usual, and is chatting with the pretty blond from the Eolian. Of course he is.  
Knots forgotten, you creep closer to the courtyard, hoping that the conversation is inane.  
"I could be your prince, Bea." Pedro leans in towards the girl. You hastily retreat, not wanting to see the end of that exchange, pain radiating from your core.  
You had known Pedro dated women. You had known. Yet you had hoped...

...

You're back at your room, trying to take out the anguish on your lute. Turn heartbreak into music. Pain into music. Your hands stutter and fail you, the carefully woven melody shattering at your fingertips. For the first time, music isn't enough.


End file.
